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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27209509">so every day</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomBowline/pseuds/TomBowline'>TomBowline</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Developing Relationship, M/M, Pining, Pre-Canon, Science, The Mortifying Ordeal of Learning to Draw, Unusual Intimacy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:49:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,853</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27209509</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomBowline/pseuds/TomBowline</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Spring, 1845. Harry engages Commander Fitzjames for drawing lessons.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Commander James Fitzjames/Harry D. S. Goodsir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>@terror_exe Prompt Fills</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>so every day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Fill for <a href="https://twitter.com/terror_exe/status/1302112265781510146?s=21">this Terror_exe tweet:</a> "james fitzjames/dr goodsir, ambiguous ending, Unusual Intimacy, poetry"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “So every day </em>
  <br/>
  <em> I was surrounded by the beautiful crying forth  </em>
  <br/>
  <em> of the ideas of God, </em>
  <br/>
  <em> one of which was you.” </em>
</p><p>— Mary Oliver</p><p> </p><p>The first time Commander Fitzjames paid Harry Goodsir a visit, Harry was up to his elbows in seawater.</p><p>Of course, the commander had been through the sickbay before, but only ever to check supplies or give a halloo to Dr Stanley (who did not seem like the sort of person to bear being hallooed - but then, perhaps Harry simply did not know him as well as the commander did). Now Fitzjames was here, it seemed, with the express purpose of observing Harry’s work as a naturalist. This produced in Harry the curious feeling of equal flattery and annoyance. Flattery, in the common manner of one who has had an important person take interest in their personal work. Annoyance, in the common manner of one whose personal work has been interrupted by an important person. The commander, however, did not seem to be inclined to disrupt Harry’s machinations. “No, no,” he cried upon seeing Harry hasten to right himself and stand at attention. “None of that, please, Doctor Goodsir, I can see you’re quite engaged. I only came to see our resident naturalist at work.” </p><p>“I am happy to give a demonstration, sir, but aboard this ship I am a mere assistant surgeon, not a doctor. Or a naturalist, officially.”</p><p>Fitzjames cast a pointed but good-natured glance to Harry’s arms where they disappeared into the tin bucket. “You are certainly acting like a naturalist at the moment, so that is how I would have you carry on. And you must call me James, I detest formalities. I hope I may call you Harry as well.” This with a sly smile and a flick of his eyes up to Harry’s bemused face.</p><p>“Of course,” Harry nodded, taking a moment to return the commander’s gaze (never had he regarded him so closely for so long; where before he had seen a vague sort of haughty handsomeness he noted now the unusual but well-turned bones of his face, the striking and elegant eyes within it, the curtains of curled chestnut hair that framed it all) before returning his attention to the seawater. He peered down at the veritable soup of small fish and shrimp with some apprehension. “Ehm. Is your interest in my work merely academic, James, or would you like to lend a hand?”</p><p>“I am a sailor, Harry,” James replied with an expansive smile. “I am not accustomed to be afraid of getting wet.”</p><p>•••</p><p>They got through the larger candidates with little delay; James’ elegant hands preparing specimen jars and scrawling the dictated labels (and staying quite dry, after all) made light work for Harry. It helped that there were only three animals of any interest; the rest Harry decanted into a separate bucket to be tipped over the side later and returned to their home - or at least, a patch of ocean somewhere within a few leagues of their home. “Well,” said Harry on a huff of a breath when the last fish had been sent wriggling into the return bucket, “that should be all the plainly visible creatures.” He offered James a conspiratorial look. “Shall we see what’s left?”</p><p>•••</p><p>“There’s a sort of poetry to it, is there not?” Harry mused, half to himself, as he stared down at the little dish through the microscope. In the view-glass he could see several different varieties of animalcule, none new to him (though they had all been new to James, who had taken his turn at the microscope a moment ago with rapturous wonder), moving unhurriedly about the shallow greenish water. “Living things as small as that. We would never know-” Here he glanced up to find James with his eyes fixed on Harry, following his speech raptly. “Never know they exist, to look at them plainly, and yet they do.“ Harry trailed off, searching for the end of a thought he had not planned to finish. James’ eyes were a very clear and deep sort of brown, and trained upon him very keenly. “They must live so differently from us,” he finished flatly and rather obviously. </p><p>“That is precisely what I think,” James said softly and with feeling, seeming not to notice Harry’s wrong-footedness. “Poetry. It is- you have read Darwin’s <em> Journal</em>, I imagine?”</p><p>Harry nodded. In fact, Darwin’s account of his explorations with the Beagle had been one factor that had led him to seek a position onboard a ship (if not strictly as a naturalist, as Darwin had been). The volume now lay somewhere in his berth, untouched since they had left port, waiting to bring tales of humid climes and vibrant life to Harry on a cold winter night. “Oh, yes. But I had not considered Mr Darwin a poet.”</p><p>“He does not consider himself one, to my knowledge,” James admitted. “Still I believe he shares our sentiment. Do you remember— when the Beagle is rounding Cape Horn, and he describes the way the sea glows...” He paused, rolled his eyes up as if recalling something from the very back of his mind. Wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. Then quoted, in a smooth voice tinted with wonder: “‘The vessel drove before her bows two billows of liquid phosphorus, and in her wake was a milky train’. It has a sort of resonance to it, does it not? The inspiration that that image must have given him to form such a sentence speaks to the very poetry of nature. And he describes just the same sort of creatures as you have here.” James shifted the warm, flowing weight of his gaze away from Harry and back to the dish, peering at the murky seawater with what seemed to be genuine fondness.</p><p>Harry was finding himself suddenly too distracted to think very deeply about his animalcules. What an extraordinary man he had before him, quoting Darwin from memory and waxing confidently on the lyric qualities of nature. The simple fact that James had taken an interest in this work of his was a breath of fresh air to Harry, but to have the threads of his own ideas braided up and returned to him so artfully was inexpressibly wonderful. Harry wished he could have this always.</p><p>“Commander,” Harry began, scarcely knowing where he would end up, “you are fond of sketching, are you not?”</p><p>James blinked, turning his head upwards to focus on Harry once more. A lock of his hair caught about his brow and then settled. “I try to make it a regular practice,” he said rather modestly. “Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Well—” By now Harry had alighted on a plan. “I am not, you see. Fond of it. But illustration is a rather vital part of a naturalist’s work. I had wondered if—” He cast his eyes down to where his hand was picking at a scar in the wood of the desk - he was growing embarrassed, now, and was no longer quite as certain of success as he had been but a moment ago. A commander must have many claims upon his time, after all. “On calm days, of course, if you find yourself in need of activity. I should be pleased if you would come and visit me at my work, and sketch out what you see.”</p><p>Harry risked a glance back up at James to see a smile curl across his face, cutting furrows in the broad planes of his cheeks. </p><p>“Ah, Dr Goodsir,” James replied, holding up a hand. “As inviting as your offer is, I fancy I have a better idea. You said yourself that drawing is vital for a naturalist, did you not?”</p><p>Harry frowned. If James meant to refuse him, he wished he would be quick about it. “I did,” he agreed, haltingly.</p><p>“Well then.” James tipped his chin up and leveled his twinkling gaze at Harry down the charmingly warped beam of his nose. “If you have no objection, I would rather teach you to sketch. That way you may ply your trade for years to come, without needing to call for me each time you publish.”</p><p>Privately, Harry thought that he would not mind calling on James quite frequently even after their expedition was ended. Privately, he knew that publication in his own right was a far-off dream for him as yet. Privately, he wondered how he would withstand having James at his back, over his shoulder, guiding his hand.</p><p>To James, he gave a smile and a hearty nod. “An excellent idea,” he agreed. “Would you like to set a time, or will you drop in at your leisure?”</p><p>“Not much leisure to be had just now,” James pointed out with a quirk of his lip. “I shall do my best to give you some notice, but I may be a rather inconstant tutor.”</p><p>“Of course,” Harry nodded, “I understand completely—”</p><p>He might have said more, might even have remarked on the harried nature of his own study under Dr Stanley’s critical gaze, but the pair were interrupted by a rap on the open doorframe. Harry peered past James to see Lt Le Vesconte standing there expectantly.</p><p>“Ah, Dundy,” James exclaimed, turning round smartly in the small space to see the lieutenant, then once again a bit less smartly to address Harry. “Duty calls,” he remarked. “I hope to be back soon.” With that he turned about once more and was gone.</p><p>•••</p><p>Harry’s first lesson was indeed rather long in coming. He spent a week selecting specimens for sketching, another week rethinking his choices, and by the end of the third week an incredible string of minor accidents among the seamen had nearly driven it from his mind entirely. So it was a pleasant surprise when James tapped on the doorframe of the sickbay after Divine Service that third Sunday and asked if Harry was ready for a lesson in illustration.</p><p>“Ah!” Harry occupied himself for some moments with the hurried clearing of a space at the table for James to set down his sketching supplies - several pencils, a well-worn pen and a small bottle of black ink, an eraser of gum elastic, and a sheaf of small loose papers. “I thought we ought to begin on a small scale,” James said with a gesture to the sheets, “so I trimmed down some papers from my sketch-book.”</p><p>Harry nodded. Quite right, too. He had never got the hang of large-scale drawing. The only scribbles of his own that he thought might have some merit were tiny, scrawled about in his notes and such. “I thought,” he began, and here ensued a scuffle as he made to reach his intended specimen down from its shelf and disturbed some dredging-nets nearly to disaster. “Thought to start with this one, if you agree,” he finished belatedly, holding up a nautilus in a preserving-jar. He had seen enough of it, he reasoned, to be able to make a passable sketch. James nodded amiably, and they shuffled about until they were crammed in side by side at the little desk with the jar taking pride of place in the center.</p><p>Harry reached for the pen, but James stopped him with a touch of his hand to Harry’s wrist. His fingers were long and nimble and still tanned from wherever he had been before this journey, nails immaculate, hair light and glimmering in the afternoon light that filtered through the cabin. And his touch was warm, though the air was already growing crisp this far north. Harry had to keep his wrist from shaking as he tried to hold still.</p><p>“You’ll want to start with a pencil.” James’ voice was as warm as his skin, with no savor of unkindness or admonishment. “I find it helps to sketch with the pencils first, and then choose the lines you want to commit to ink. The eraser helps, of course.”</p><p>“Ah— of course,” Harry echoed. “Right, yes.” James’ hand slipped away, as smoothly as it had come, as Harry selected one of the drawing pencils. Easy enough, he thought. Please let it be easy enough.</p><p>It was not. His lines were crabbed, his shading was amateur, and his ink finishing-lines were applied most injudiciously. But James was absurdly patient with him through it all. A slight chewing at his mouth was the only sign he showed of displeasure upon seeing the final, sorry picture; he gave Harry such nudging instruction in his next attempt, and his next, as had him improving by slight but tangible degrees. Induced by the gentle tones of James’ voice and the animated gestures of James’ hand, Harry had begun learning to see differently - to break the creature before him into simple shapes, circles and polygons, and to add detail by stages over the whole piece rather than all at once at each area in turn. By the time their lesson was ended, Harry’s nautilus was represented not only recognizably but almost pleasingly upon the paper. </p><p>“Yes,” James was saying, hand warm on Harry’s shoulder, hair tickling his cheek as he peered at the drawing. “Look how much improved you are already. I say, Harry. Very well done.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Harry replied. For his part he would still wish to have made a better job of it, but could not see how to do so - particularly not with James so near to him; what a singular distraction this man was! “Shall we continue?”</p><p>“Ah.” James sighed, and stood from his seat, to Harry’s mingled disappointment and relief. “I am sworn to a meeting with Captain Crozier on the particulars of magnetism, I am afraid.” He did look truly pained to admit it. “The master upon one subject, my dear man, must be the student upon another.” Gathering up his supplies with his long-fingered hands, giving Harry a smile more small and sheepish than such a face as his deserved. “I hope you will remember, throughout the time until we may convene again - see the world by its shapes. All can be simplified into its basic forms, organic and inorganic. You can practice at that anytime, just by looking around you.” <em> Rectangular face, </em> Harry thought, <em> teardrop eyes. Vertical lines about the mouth. Square shoulders, long legs. </em>How inadequate it was.</p><p>“I will, James,” he managed. “Thank you.”</p><p>•••</p><p>Over the week that followed, Harry did as James advised. He began to see his specimens in ovals and triangles, to pick out the features of his fellow crewmen into their basic shapes - the snipped end of Dr Stanley’s nose, the trapezoid of Sir John’s upper lip. Looking up into the Erebus’ rigging, Harry found the mass of poles and ropes rather untranslatable, but this was not a source of much vexation as he was not called professionally to draw the parts of ships. Squinting helped with the more organic forms - Harry had done this less often, however, since he’d been caught narrowing his eyes at Lieutenant Hodgson’s profile from across the wardroom table and been drawn into a lengthy and awkward explanation for his apparent glaring. Still, he’d been getting on well, he thought - so well that when he next saw James come through the door, he was quite eager to begin.</p><p>“Here is—” Once again Harry had to fumble for his object, going up on tiptoes to reach it down. “This is quite special. Well, to me, at any rate.” He set the little stuffed bird on its wood perch down upon the table. “Just a bullfinch,” he said apologetically to James, who was peering at it quite courteously. “It was the most common bird around our house. We had a nest of them in one of our trees, growing up. This one was a going-away present when I went to study the sciences. Reminds me of home.”</p><p>“A marvelous little creature,” James breathed with that honest reverence that always took Harry aback. “How wonderful to have something of your home with you on a journey such as this.”</p><p>Harry was slightly more confident in his sketching now, and so it came about that there were long stretches wherein he did not need James to advise him. Rather than look over his shoulder like an attentive schoolmaster, James sat down in the chair diagonal to Harry’s and observed his work from there, one elbow rested upon the table’s edge. They filled the silence with idle, intermittent conversation as Harry finished mapping the blunt elegance of the bird’s shape and began blocking out areas of different value. </p><p>“How are you finding your post here, Harry?”</p><p>“It is…” Harry studied the finch’s wing: tried to focus on where, exactly, black became that light downy grey. Tried to ignore the richness of James’ voice, the smooth warmth of it. “Challenging. I am being rather put through the paces. All in a day’s work, of course,” he added quickly. It would not do for James to think him ungrateful of his position.</p><p>“Do you ever wish you’d been taken on only to do this, this study of naturalism?”</p><p>This was exactly the conclusion Harry had feared. “Of course I appreciate the opportunity to learn under Dr Stanley—”</p><p>James smiled - good-natured and toothless, putting Harry at ease. “That’s not what I asked.”</p><p>“Well.” Harry thought for a long moment. “You know— I like helping people. I enjoy being able to help. And I think the work I do here—” - with a gesture to the finch on its perch - “isn’t truly all that separate from what I do as a surgeon. It fits together. We learn so much from these creatures, and I think a lot of it can help us treat our human patients. Understand their workings better, or make better medicines for them. Does that make sense?” </p><p>James stared at him, chewing the inside of his cheek again. Harry was afraid he’d said something wrong, but—</p><p>“You are a remarkable man,” James said with feeling. “Entirely remarkable. We would be well served to be all gifted with your eyes to see the world.”</p><p>Harry was not quite sure how to respond to such an assertion. He ducked his face back into his drawing with a muttered <em> thank you, </em> and hoped James could not see how pink the tips of his ears must be.</p><p>When his first attempt was finished, or something like it, he sat back and put down his pen. He did not esteem the work highly enough to present it directly to James, preferring to wait for him to mark the change. When he did, he pulled his seat adjacent to Harry’s and sat forward to examine the drawing - one sure hand resting at the corner, right shoulder tucked behind Harry’s left like two cards fanned out. Pressed in easily.</p><p>“Your shapes are much more true to life,” James said upon observing Harry’s folly of a picture. “The body of the bird particularly is very proportional with the head. You have some learning to do with ink yet, I see. Let me show you something.” He slid a fresh sheet over and gestured for Harry to take up the pen again, then wrapped his hand about Harry’s own.</p><p>Harry believed his heart may have stopped. Considered, idly, the merits of such an event’s controlled repetition - a study into how long the human heart could pause in the throes of desire and survive it. The next moment, scientific thought was driven from his head, for James was guiding his hand with a measured strength - dip, tap, then to paper. Harry’s heart began to beat again beneath the sweep of James’ arm on his, the grip of James’ hand as it enfolded his own. They were drawing a circle, he saw dimly, then shading it in with intermittent curving lines. “I see you know you cannot use the ink as you do the pencil,” James murmured, directly into his ear now. “You are quite timid with it. Try using the shading of the pencil as a guide, and hatching in with ink in different concentrations of lines.” Harry swore he could almost feel James’ lips on his ear. No, he could, he was certain. Over his hand, James’ thumb stroked a deliberate line, a hatch-mark on his flesh.</p><p>This was too much. Harry turned to face James, twisting his neck rather violently as he did so. He saw his face for but a moment, gazing sweetly back at him with mouth half-open. Then he was kissing him, feeling the planes of that face upon his own as he had wanted to for longer than he could freely admit. On his pen-hand, James released his grip; Harry dropped the pen to roll where it may and shifted around fully into James, into the tender heat of James’ mouth and the smell of James’ hair and the fine cotton of James’ lapel under his hand. He pulled away, to see James’ face slack and flushed, to gasp something out, <em> Please </em> or <em> I’ve wanted to </em> or <em> You are </em>—</p><p>A knock upon the door.</p><p>Harry supposed he should be grateful James had closed it at all. Scarcely had they leapt apart - James to unfold into a position of teetering uprightness, he to shift his chair back so violently as to nearly send him crashing back into the shelf of medicine-bottles behind - when Sir John Franklin himself popped through the door, looking as jovial as ever he had. And, it dawned on Harry as Sir John looked from himself to James without a change of expression, completely oblivious. <em> Good Lord, for small mercies. </em></p><p>“Ah, Mr Goodsir! I see you are at your studies once again. Very good, very good. James?”</p><p>James tipped his head forward with what dignity he could muster. He was still somewhat flushed - worse yet, a lock of his hair had traveled from one side of his part to the other to stick up like a weed in a wheat-field. “Sir John.”</p><p>“I had hoped you would accompany me in looking over our maps of the Polar region. We must know where we are bound once we leave Disko, and it will not hurt to familiarize ourselves early, hmm?” A command, wrapped in a request.</p><p>“Of course, Sir.” James smiled weakly, giving Sir John a bit of pause. He narrowed his eyes, and the circle of his chin drooped somewhat in a frown. </p><p>“Are you quite well, my boy? You look awfully ruddy.”</p><p>“Oh, yes,” James stammered, “quite well. Only a bit overwarm, if you can believe it. They do keep the ship monstrously stuffy at times.”</p><p>Sir John seemed satisfied with this slipshod explanation; he turned about, inclining his head for James to follow him. And like that, Harry was on his own again. Left to wonder what had happened, whether he had made a terrible mistake, whether he would see James again. It seemed unlikely, now, as he stood there alone with his stuffed bird and his clumsy drawing.</p><p>Except— No. Yes. James reeled backwards to pop his head back inside the doorframe and smiled his crooked smile. Winked. Deliberately.</p><p>Well then. Quite. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Harry, completely moonstruck: “animalcules must live, um...such different lives...”<br/>James, batting his eyelashes and twirling a lock of his hair around one finger: “wow dr goodsir you’re SO smart. check out how hard i can quote your favorite naturalist. do u wanna measure ur hand against mine”</p><p>PS I did not even really manage to stick to the “ambiguous ending” prompt bc i need Harry to KNOW James Likes Him Back...however...there may be a sequel eventually that makes things less ambiguous still.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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